Penny Lane
by Lily Luna Longbottom
Summary: You smoothed his hair and you sang.


**_A/N: Hey guys, I tried something a little different here; hope you like it. The song used is Penny Lane by The Beatles and the scene/time changes every time Lily sings. Again, I hope you like it. Don't forget to review!_**

**_Disclaimer: Anything Harry Potter is not mine. Neither is The Beatles' song._**

"_Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs  
Of every head he's had the pleasure to know  
And all the people that come and go  
Stop and say hello."_

You sing to yourself as you roam the halls. Often during rounds you would entertain yourself with whispered renditions of your favorites. You remember your mother used to play this when you were younger. The summer it came out you spent afternoons swinging around the kitchen, the record player singing, your fingers sticky with melted ice cream and clasped in your mother and sister's. That was years ago now.

Of course you miss it, but long ago you convinced yourself that this was better. Being a witch was amazing, even amidst a war.

You heard a shuffle from around the corner. Shaking yourself out of a day dream you held her wand out, ready to investigate.

To your surprise, you found a sniveling James Potter. You had never seen him like this: small, weak. The James Potter you knew was fiery and strong. Never once did you think that you would ever find him like this.

"Potter? James, you alright?"

"Lily?" He looked up, eyes read, high as a kite.

"Yeah, yeah it's me. Is everything okay?"

"Ma mum- ma mum she's-" He let out a strangled sob, the most pitiful thing you had ever heard.

"Oh, James, no." You gasped. James nodded. You had met the Potters once, only once, but Mrs. Potter had been a lovely woman.

You reach out to him. Pull him towards yourself and settle on the floor. You hold him as he cries because you know it's the only thing you can do. This is a time of war. There are casualties.

You suck in a breath and hum through the next few lines.

"_On the corner is a banker with a motorcar,  
And little children laugh at him behind his back.  
And the banker never wears a mac  
In the pouring rain, very strange."_

You sing it as you brush the hair away from his face, away from his tears. A long time ago, probably only several months but it feels longer, you had told yourself that there would be casualties, that this was war. It comes to bite you in the ass because this war has taken its share of casualties and it keeps taking more. You've lost so much and you've only been in the real world for eight months.

It was another girl from school, Sherrie Something-or-Other. You think he dated, or maybe just slept with her, in fifth year. You don't want to wake him u and tell him, even though you should, because this is the first time he's actually slept in nearly two weeks. You had to thoroughly wear him out to get him down. It helps though, when you spend nights like that together, it reminds him that you're both still alive. Still breathing. Still feeling.

You think he'll be okay. He just works too hard, in your opinion. You think that tonight you'll let him sleep; tell him in the morning. It'll be just as bad in the morning, but at least he'll be well rested.

You lay you're head on the bed beside him and begin to sing.

"_Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.  
There beneath the blue suburban skies  
I sit, and meanwhile back  
In Penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass,  
And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen.  
He likes to keep his fire engine clean,  
It's a clean machine."_

He's lying in a hospital bed. It's not the first time but it never gets any better, any easier.

He looks worse this time you think. All dried blood caked to the side of his face and matted in his hair. You could have lost him today, you know that. You think about it far more often than you would like to.

You jump to his side when he stirs and groans. He's all questions. What happened? Where am I? Are you okay? Did anyone else get hurt? Your heart breaks and you hate that you always have to be the one that tells him.

Marlene died in the attack. Crucio; quick and fast. She was one of your best friends, James and her got on quite well too. She and Sirius even dated for a while in sixth year, long before you and James got together. You know Sirius will be quite heart broken, he still cared for her more than he would admit.

James cries out in frustration when you tell him. He used to just cry. Now he stomps and storms. He wants to scream and you do to. This is all so wrong. You're only eighteen; not old enough to fight a war, let alone win it.

You smooth his matted hair, blood and all, and murmur to him that you know. You feel it to. He calms down slowly, until it's just tears sliding silently down your faces and your hushed voice singing.

"_Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.  
A four of fish and finger pies  
In summer. Meanwhile back  
Behind the shelter in the middle of the roundabout  
The pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray.  
And though she feels as if she's in a play,  
She is anyway."_

He swings you around the kitchen, your voice blending with the old record player. He's all smiles and laughter. It almost feels happy in you little rundown kitchen. The lights burn orange, it's cozy.

There's still a war looming out your window. Someone else probably died tonight, and in the morning you'll cry. But tonight you smile, because he still sees it as good news.

You're pregnant.

You almost didn't want to tell him, you were afraid he would be angry. Afraid he wouldn't want the baby. This was war. There were bound to be casualties.

He had laughed. Had said:

"I'll love this baby, Lily, because it's yours."

"It's ours James, remember?"

"Oh, I remember alright." He had chuckled and kissed your neck.

"James stop, I'm being serious."

"Well, you're not doing a very good job of it then, are you love? Sirius never would have gotten himself knocked up."

"Oi, you're the one doing the knocking aren't you?"

"Well, when you put it that way…"

"James?"

"Yes, Lilyflower?"

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Of course."

"We're going to be parents."

"Yes we are."

"I'm going to be a mother."

"Mhm."

"And you're going to be a dad."

"Yup."

"I'm kind of excited. Is that okay?"

"It's perfect. Lily, you're bringing a human person into this world! There's a little baby wizard in there!"

"Or witch."

"Yes, of course. But I think it's going to be a boy, don't you? I just have this feeling."

"What, are you a seer now?"

"Come on Lils, don't make fun!" James pouted. That was when you'd taken his hand and pulled him up, started the record player and began to celebrate. You danced for hours, in your own little happy world singing:

"_In Penny Lane the barber shaves another customer,  
We see the banker sitting waiting for a trim,  
And then the fireman rushes in  
From the pouring rain - very strange"_

He spoke at the funeral. His last parent dead before he got to see his grandchild. You watched him cry silently, the frustration usually brought on by the war gone, just gone. He looked so exhausted, worn out. You wished there was more you could do but there just wasn't. You were as lost as him.

Seven months along, you felt like you were going too pop, but he told you you looked beautiful every single day, if he saw you. Sometimes he was too busy with the Order; with the war. You'd been drinking tea to calm your nerves. You think you've drank so much of it that when you die in this war, as you've become sure you will, you'll bleed the stuff.

He drinks that night. You sit with him. He isn't even bothered to cry anymore. You're both so sick of everything. So sick of war and death; of tears and whiskey.

He falls asleep on the floor with his head on your chest and you sing:

"_Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.  
There beneath the blue suburban skies  
I sit, and meanwhile back.  
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.  
There beneath the blue suburban skies  
Penny Lane!"_

You sang to your baby; _your baby._ But not just yours, yours and his. This was Lily and James baby.

Lily, James and Harry Potter.


End file.
